


Fluff on a Leash

by zerodawn22



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dogs, F/F, Fluff, Gay Feelings, Oneshot, The dog is named after Snape, fleurmione - Freeform, pomeranian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27715418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zerodawn22/pseuds/zerodawn22
Summary: A wayward dog on a leash leads Hermione to reconnect with a stunning blonde from her past. Short oneshot for Bork's birthday. Fleurmione. F/F, etc.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger
Comments: 9
Kudos: 204





	Fluff on a Leash

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LunaticAtBest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaticAtBest/gifts).



> A/N: This fic goes out to a good little Bork for her birthday! Some of you may know her from the Bellamione and Fleurmione discord servers floating around out there - She's a bloody gem.
> 
> Side note, if you want to join a Harry Potter Femslash Discord, come join us at discord. gg/6anK88uNst (delete the spaces, I just put them in so the link won't be yeeted).

Hermione had no idea how Ginny had managed to convince Harry to adopt a Pomeranian with her. Even less of an idea as to how Ginny had convinced Hermione to dogsit while she and Harry were off in Scotland to celebrate their anniversary.

Hermione was inwardly cursing the redhead’s wiles as she walked the rather excitable dog through the streets of Diagon Alley. Little Snape was a feisty dog, constantly pulling at the lead and trying to run away to investigate new smells and movements. He was a blurry puff of fur at the end of a taut leash, tugging every which way with wild excitement.

Ginny had told Hermione it would help take her mind off things and encourage her to get out instead of moping. Hermione had been rather offended at the term _moping,_ though now she was out and about again each day, she could see the redhead’s point.

Hermione had suffered a truly chaotic breakup with Ron very recently. Hermione had always thought that it meant _something_ if someone could get under your skin with just a word. That if someone could have you feeling high in a moment with a gentle kiss, then plunge your mood seconds later with a careless word, it was _passion._ Now she knew that was all a load of bollocks. She and Ron just weren’t right for each other. They probably never had been. The care and intimacy between them, in retrospect, was their friendship and nothing more. The need for anything more had probably come from the war and the comfort it made everyone crave in the aftermath.

Hermione and Ron had moved in together very soon after the war had ended. Into a one bedroom apartment, almost as if they had a death wish. Hermione had instantly sought out a means of finishing her studies and deciding on a career. Ron had taken a year off to revel in the fame his war efforts had awarded. Fame he had craved for as long as Hermione had known him.

Their days were filled with loud arguments, with words that too-often hit close to the bone. The nights were not much better, with one of them often relegated to the couch. That, or lying in bed with tense backs facing each other, in a silent stand-off to see who could go without talking the longest.

When Ron had suggested a brief break, it had been a breath of fresh air into the musty lungs of Hermione. She’d felt herself free of a collar she hadn’t known was choking her. Delirious in her new freedom, she had uncharacteristically gone out drinking with Luna and Ginny, only to wind up having the most bizarre one night stand of her life: Pansy Parkinson. 

The constant ribbing from Ginny coupled with a horrific hangover, had been punishment enough. She hadn’t needed it to get back to Ron. Hadn’t needed it to kick off the worst argument she had ever had with him in the history of their friendship.

But now, Hermione and Ron were no longer. No longer a couple. Currently no longer friends. All due to a stupid drunk decision that didn’t make sense to Hermione in the cold light of day. She hadn’t even considered herself interested in women. Could she have been all along and simply not realised?

She’d certainly enjoyed her one night stand. Memories of soft skin and silky hair re-emerged in her mind’s eye and Hermione felt a giddy rush to her head and, er, other extremities.

She shook her head firmly, brown curls bouncing, and turned her focus to the shops around her once more.

Hermione was quickly getting to her wit’s end with babysitting the cursed dog.

She was just trying to look in the window at Flourish & Blotts’ new quill range when she felt a familiar tugging at the lead in her hand. However, this time it was followed by some rather colourful cursing.

“Oh — “ Hermione turned around, her words catching in her throat.

Little Snape had managed to circle the slender legs of one Fleur Delacour several times, effectively tying her up and trapping her. Now Snape was looking up at the blonde with a triumphant, tongue-out pant.Fleur did not seem amused.

“ _What_ is this furball trying to do?” Fleur cursed arrogantly. Her French accent had lessened over the years, but still accentuated her words.

“Erm, he’s Harry and Ginny’s dog,” Hermione half explained, taking in the appearance of the blonde.

Fleur was looking ravishing as usual, dressed in a plain linen dress, which she somehow managed to make look high fashion. Her long silky platinum blonde hair hung loose, perfectly straight, glimmering silver in the sun.

Nobody had seen much of Fleur since she had divorced Bill after the war. Hermione had heard that she was still based in London but hadn’t often seen her around. Perhaps she was laying low after the explosive reaction of the Weasleys? Fleur had cited the reasons for her divorce were that she had married too young, half-expecting them to die during the war. She had been barely out of high school, Hermione had reasoned at the time. Bill was in his late twenties, ready to settle down. Fleur had not properly experienced life outside school by the time she had met him. Hermione had thought her reasoning had made a lot of sense in retrospect.

Fleur eyed Hermione with distaste.

As close as they had been during Hermione’s brief period of healing under Fleur’s care, they had almost instantly gone back to the wary distance that had always existed between them. Hermione and Fleur had never got along, not since they first met all those years earlier at Hogwarts.

_“Excusez-moi? Can you please tell me how to get to the library?” Fleur Delacour asked a bushy-haired, buck-toothed Hermione Granger._

_“Errr,” Hermione was momentarily stunned by the abnormally pretty creature standing before her in a powder blue uniform. The uniform hugged her figure in a way that made Hermione blush, though she didn’t fully understand why._

_“Ze stupid staircases keep changing! As soon as I find a place, I get lost all over again,” Fleur sniffed, clearly put out._

_“Oh, well— there’s a book that could help! Hogwarts: A History,” Hermione offered. Fleur scowled, raising her chin higher._

_“Why would I want to read about this school? I hate it here. So cold and dark. With dangerous obstacles all around the hallways? What kind of a school is this?” Fleur huffed._

_Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but the memory of being petrified by a Basilisk was too close to the surface of her memory. Still, she was offended. Hogwarts was her home in a way that she hadn’t even felt back with her parents._

_‘Snooty tart,’ Hermione thought sourly._

Fleur, utterly trapped by the infuriating dog before her, stared at Hermione Granger with growing irritation.

Hermione had always had an attitude of thinking she was superior, swift to correct Fleur’s English or point out something Fleur had missed. Fleur hated the way she always made her feel stupid. As if she was the dumb bimbo that everyone always assumed she was.

Right now, Hermione was just staring at her, making absolutely no move to help her extricate herself from the leash binding her legs together. Fleur inwardly cursed her decision to wear heels. They looked fabulous, but were entirely impractical. Though how was she supposed to know that she would end up being detained by a small puff of a dog?

“Excuse me?” Fleur prompted, waving a hand in front of Hermione’s face. This seemed to snap the brunette prodigy out of her reverie.

“Sorry— What?” Hermione asked, her brown eyes refocussing. When Hermione was attentive, her eyes were fascinating. Always bright and full of life. It made Fleur think of the days when Hermione was finally beginning to pull herself out of her internal hell at Shell Cottage.

Fleur shook her head, there was no use in thinking back to those times. It was fleeting. Hermione had gone back to looking at her with disdain almost immediately afterwards.

“Are you going to release me from this… thing?” Fleur asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Pomeranian?” Hermione prompted, once again spiking Fleur’s temper. She always had to correct her, always had to make her feel like an idiot.

“I don’t _care_ if he’s a dragon— Release me _now!_ ” Fleur demanded angrily.

“For Pete’s sake, if you could just have a little bit of patience,” Hermione grumbled, stepping nearer to the blonde.

Unfortunately, their raised voices seemed to have excited Snape even more, for he rapidly circled again, this time capturing Hermione’s legs with the lead.

The brunette found herself suddenly, embarrassingly, close to Fleur. They were bound together tightly by the legs, suddenly having to grab each other’s arms to keep from falling over.

She’d never been this close to Fleur before, but noticed that she smelled almost as good as she looked. It was a smell somewhat like honey and flowers, emanating from the skin of her neck. Hermione locked eyes with Fleur.

Fleur felt her temper still abruptly as she met the warm brown eyes of Hermione Granger. The brunette’s body was pressed against her own and it felt… Nice? Fleur hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t expected the look of… _something_ in the younger witch’s eyes either. It was quiet, but glimmering. Fleur couldn’t quite articulate what the look was— not yet— but whatever it was set something flickering deep in her abdomen.

Hermione blinked then, and a blush warmed her freckled cheeks.

“Er— Wand—“ Hermione mumbled, as inarticulate as anyone had ever heard Hermione Granger.

She was self-conscious, nervous. Her movements suddenly jerky and awkward. In her attempt to enthusiastically grab her wand, she lost her balance.

Snape barked excitedly as the two young women fell— tangled in his lead— to the cobblestones of Diagon Alley. Thankfully, it was early enough on a Sunday morning that only a mildly curious elderly couple walked past, not bothering to offer assistance.

Fleur’s eyes clenched shut and a hiss of pain escaped her full lips as her back hit the cobbles, Hermione landing heavily on top of her.

“Merlin! I’m so sorry— are you okay?” Hermione asked breathlessly.

The idea of hurting the woman who had nursed her so carefully back to health seemed perverse. Hermione found herself cupping Fleur’s face with both hands, concerned that the blonde had hit her head.

Bright blue gazed up at the brunette as Fleur opened her eyes slowly, wincing.

Fleur was dazed. The wind had been knocked out of her as she had been unceremoniously knocked to the hard cobbles of the street. Now, however, she was dazed for an entirely different reason. Had Hermione Granger always been this stunning?

She’d often thought of her as cute, moreso in the time since nursing her back to health. But in this light, with the brunette’s body distractingly snug on top of her, Hermione appeared radiant.

“Are you okay?” Hermione repeated again. Fleur realised she had been staring and hadn’t responded. The brunette was cupping her face with soft hands and it was distracting.

“Ah, yes,” Fleur replied, hating how stupid she sounded.

Fleur’s voice sounded uneven to Hermione, but she appeared to be unharmed. Hermione’s mind, allayed of concern, immediately turned to the thought of how _good_ it felt to have Fleur Delacour lying beneath her.

Hermione blushed, grabbing her wand— finally— and casting a short but complex spell to make the leash snake itself from around their legs and come to rest in a pile beside little Snape. Snape barked happily. Cursed dog.

Hermione leapt to her feet, immediately offering a hand to Fleur. The blonde took it, still appearing a little dazed. Gone was the usual icy facade Fleur kept people at distance with. Instead, Hermione was reminded of how Fleur seemed at Shell Cottage. Hermione pulled Fleur up, the blonde ending up standing extremely close to her.

“I… Uh… I’m sorry,” Hermione mumbled. She didn’t often find herself at a loss for words.

“It’s okay,” Fleur said, smiling, She didn’t often find herself smiling so freely.

“It’s… Uh… Not how I imagined us catching up,” Hermione said, blushing slightly.

Fleur eyed Hermione curiously, cocking her head to one side.

“How would you feel about catching up properly sometime, then?” Fleur asked. The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could think properly. Once they had, she froze, worried that Hermione would cut her down. Correct her English, decline the invite, affix that look of distaste back on her face… Maybe Fleur had read this moment all wrong.

Instead, Hermione returned Fleur’s smile, with so much warmth there was a heat to it.

“I would love that,” Hermione replied.

“Bon,” Fleur said, voice tinged with relief, “I will owl you.”

Then, in a habit long forgotten, Fleur leaned in to kiss Hermione on each cheek. The first kiss fell dangerously close to the corner of Hermione’s mouth and she heard the brunette’s breath catch.

The second kiss, Hermione, summoning all her Gryffindor courage, intercepted.

Lips met, softly, but alighting fires that were not at all chaste inside the young women. Fleur’s hands came to rest so gently on Hermione’s hips, they seemed like they might fly away again at any moment. Hermione savoured the soft brush of lips against her own as she raised one hand to run delicately through the blonde’s hair. Her Veela heritage did her proud, the silvery-blonde strands feeling like liquid silk against Hermione’s fingers.

Long after they had separated and made shy plans to meet again, Hermione had a wide smile adorning her face like a fool.

Feeling the tug at the lead in her hand again, Hermione looked down at the small dog eager to press on in his morning walk. Instead of being exasperated at little Snape, however, Hermione chuckled lightly.

“You’re not so bad after all.”


End file.
